


Getting Shit-Faced Is A Team-Building Exercise

by WinterTheWriter



Series: Building Happily Ever After [24]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Palate-cleanser, This is ridiculous, crack probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: Natasha, Sam, Koschei, and Steve get shit-faced after the funeral. As promised.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: my dad and I actually had the fight over whether or not you should use Don Julio for shots or cocktails (cocktails), so this was partially drawn from real life. 
> 
> Also I'm a bartender (well, used to be) so this was a lot of fun to write. 
> 
> Pure fluff and silliness. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“You’re doing it wrong. You’re all doing it wrong.” Natasha yanks the half-empty bottle of Don Julio they’d bought for the table, grabbing her shot glass. “We shouldn’t even be /using/ Don Julio for shots, but if we MUST—,”

“What’s wrong with Don Julio?!” Sam interjects, pouting. 

“/Nothing/. It’s good shit, high end, /which is why/ it should be used in cocktails, not shots.”

“No difference,” he sniffs, cradling his empty shot glass to his chest. “Still drinking it, ain’t we?”

Natasha gives him a tipsy but still /horribly/ offended look on behalf of the tequila she, too, is cradling to her chest, and the sight is so ridiculous that Koschei starts to giggle helplessly. Which makes Steve giggle helplessly. Natasha glares at them and they quiet themselves, leaning against each other in the booth. 

“/If we must/,” she starts again, narrowing her eyes at Sam as if daring him to interrupt, “use Don Julio for shots, we are going to do so /correctly./ Observe.” She pours her shot class to about a fourth of the way from the top, sprinkles salt on the flat side of her hand between thumb and index finger, and grabs a lime slice from the plate in the center of the table. “Observe!” she repeats. 

“I’m observing with…with my eyes,” Steve lazily slurs, aiming for reassuring but flying straight past it into three-year-old space. 

Natasha rolls her eyes and, in swift, confident motions, licks the salt, downs the shot, and bites into the lime. She peels away the rind and swallows before leaning back against the booth, grinning smugly. “/That’s/ how you take a shot of tequila.”

“Seems unnecessary,” Koschei grimaces. “I don’t wanna lick my hand over and over again.” 

“I’d lick your hand,” Steve whispers, butting his forehead into Koschei’s jaw for some odd reason. Koschei giggles and almost tips out of the booth, but Steve catches him. 

“S’not my hand,” Koschei informs him. 

“You fuckin’ /liars/,” Sam hisses at them as Natasha pours his salt and shot for him. “You both promised you wouldn’t drink before we got here!”

“We had to!” Steve whines. “It’d take forever otherwise.”

“Jus’ had a little, I promise.” Koschei adds. Sam rolls his eyes and pouts before grabbing a lime and trying to imitate Natasha, but the salt makes him grimace, the shot makes him cough, and the lime makes him grimace /and/ cough before it falls from his mouth to the table in a mushy, green, saliva-covered glop. 

“Dis/graceful/,” Natasha scolds, holding the bottle possessively. Koschei reaches out for it like a baby, grabby-fingers and all, and Natasha regards him warily for a moment before handing it over. He /did/ intend on doing the shot, but…okay, so he and Steve each had a bottle of a whiskey before they left. His brain is fuzzier than it should be. And so it is /completely/ understandable that he’s forgotten the order completely, and just starts taking long pulls from the bottle. Natasha screeches like a wounded animal, which scares Sam so /he/ shouts, and then Steve starts shouting because he just wants to belong. Koschei takes the bottle away from his lips to join in on the shouting because he’s drunk and he likes doing what Steve does because Steve is good. 

So, well.

That’s how four Avengers got banned from a dive-bar. 

~

The next morning, everyone save Steve is nursing hangovers. Even Koschei, who /would/ metabolize the remaining alcohol in his system and reverse the effects, but his head hurts too much to think about /doing things./ He’s hunched over the kitchen table with Sam, untouched coffee in front of them as Steve whistles a merry tune while cooking up breakfast. A loud, /loud/ merry tune. Koschei and Sam exchange pained, annoyed looks and Sam mouths “he’s /your/ man.” 

“Steve?” Koschei whisper-asks, cradling his head in his hands. 

“Mmm~?” he responds with a flip of egg in the pan, grinning over his shoulder. 

“Your whistling should…not…exist.” 

Turning off the stove, Steve turns to him properly and just keeps /grinning./ “You’re adorable when you’re cranky.” And he whistles. 

With a betrayed-yet-exhausted look, Koschei points one finger at him and rasps out, “Death..will come to you…by me.” 

Sam’s head hits the table. 

Steve is not threatened. 

When Natasha walks into the kitchen a second later, she wordlessly straight up puts her head in the freezer and stands there. Steve whistles as he cooks for exactly five seconds before she hisses at him. No words, just hisses. 

Steve is threatened.

Steve stops whistling.


End file.
